Secret Agent Man
by Tarafina
Summary: Darcy just went out to dance in the desert rain and found a secret agent to warm her bed along the way.


**Title**: Secret Agent Man (I've Seen The Heart Behind Your Shield)  
**Category**: Thor  
**Genre**: Romance/Humor  
**Ship(s)**: Darcy/Coulson  
**Rating**: Strong Teen  
**Prompt**: Day #3 – Rain | Darcy Lewis Week  
**Warning(s)**: Coarse Language, Sexually Suggestive  
**Word Count**: 7,728  
**Summary**: Darcy just went out to dance in the desert rain and found a secret agent to warm her bed along the way.

**_Secret Agent Man (I've Seen The Heart Behind Your Shield)  
_**-1/1-

These were Darcy's favorite kind of days, where the sky cracked open and let down a torrent of ran that filled every dusty crack, layering it with cold, clear water. Rain was rare, which made it all the more interesting to her; often, they were stuck with draughts and wonky air conditioners that only worked when they felt like it. So when they got a summer storm, it was a small but appreciated relief.

She could hear it as it started, bouncing off the roof, slow but steadily building. Her whole face lit up, her body sitting a little straighter. Jane wasn't paying attention; she hardly ever was when she was in scientist mode. But more so lately since Thor took the rainbow bridge home and Roy G. Biv went with him.

A team of jackbooted thugs hung around to keep an eye on the good doctor and her wayward assistant; Son of Coul said it was to keep them safe, both from the _out-of-this-world_ enemy campand the average work-stealing mortal bad guys variety, but Darcy wasn't buying it. They wanted to be prepared for when Jane opened the door again, so they could convince Thor to join up with them or, at the very least, go exploring in Asgard to better prepare themselves for any imminent attack.

Darcy couldn't care less.

Sure, she wanted Thor back; he was like a giant golden retriever. And hey, it would get Jane out of her funk, too; that woman needed some loving and she only seemed interested in the big alien God dude, so Darcy would be happy if he took a one-way rainbow ticket back to _"Midgard" _for his lady love.

All she really cared about was the fact that she was basically SHIELD's bitch. Or, well, she was _Jane_'s bitch and SHIELD wouldn't let her be anything else. Apparently she knew too much and her big mouth was a liability; they weren't willing to let her out of sight for long. Which meant, generally, there was an agent on her six at all times. She could see Randy out of the corner of her eye, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, trying very hard to keep his eyes open, but yawning despite himself.

Wasn't his fault; she'd been keeping up on a steady IV of coffee so she could make sure Jane, who hadn't slept in, _oh_, three days, was at least eating. And yeah, okay, so Pop-Tarts probably weren't on the food pyramid, but the box said they were a good source of 8 essential vitamins and minerals, so… Who was she to argue, really? It was the only thing Jane would take when she held it out, everything else she grimaced at and then ignored. Speaking of, they needed a new box; Jane had already ploughed through the last one.

Climbing from her chair, Darcy gave her back a stretch. Hands on her hips, she leaned back until she heard it pop, grinning when Randy frowned. He hated it when she did that; it was one of the reasons she _kept _doing it. Annoying the various agents that were sent in to watch them was the only thing keeping her sane anymore. Because really, she liked Jane, even if the crazy-for-alien-abs doctor didn't have the same appreciation for her and all her hard work, but hanging around for the rest of her life, being a Pop-Tart dispenser, was so _not_ on her career plan for the future. And all right, fine, so she'd changed majors two or three times, but she was pretty sure poli-sci was where she wanted to be, even if it wasn't _originally _what she'd wanted and dreamt of. Now if only she could collect her six credits and get out of dodge to see what that degree could do for her...

Alas, it didn't look like it was in her near future.

As she walked toward the door, Randy startled, blinking rapidly and following her with suspicious eyes.

"Relax dude, I'm getting sustenance." She nodded her head toward her desk. "Pop a squat and get some shut-eye. It's not like the kitchen is going to do me any damage."

She didn't have to remind him that phone and internet privileges were currently cut off, which meant she wasn't going to be contacting anybody to come and save her from the government assholes.

Randy dragged a hand down his scruffy, whiskered face and walked over to her desk, plopping down into her seat and apparently dropping all pretenses of not being exhausted, because he crossed his arms and burrowed his face in them, finally relaxing. She shrugged, walking into the kitchen to take a look around for food. The cupboard was stocked to the nines with every flavor of Pop-Tart imaginable, limited edition too; it was the one thing SHIELD supplied that Jane didn't balk at. They tried offering her top of the line, Stark built machines, but she'd gotten offended and quickly told them that she built her own and didn't need their charity.

Actually, that was the PG version of what she said, because that was around the same time that Erik took off in an unmarked SUV to "help them out with other important projects" and Jane had used a whole lot of choice swear words that would've made even Darcy's third step-father, who was in and out of prison most of his life, wicked proud.

Al was cool shit; she wondered where he was now.

Humming as she checked out the box of cherry Pop-Tarts, she mused that he was probably in the state pen; last she'd heard, he was dealing guns or drugs or both. Mom was on step-daddy number six last she'd talked to her and she always rolled her eyes or made that 'puh' noise when Darcy brought up any of her previous boyfriends, Al especially. But that was probably because of that last raid on the house, where they stormed the bedroom and found her mom naked and riding Al into the mattress. Talk about awkward…

She really wasn't surprised when her mom cut ties and dumped him while he was being hauled away in handcuffs. But Darcy had written him over the years; oddly enough, he was one of the few boyfriends of her mom's that she actually liked. Probably because he treated her like one of the guys and showed her how to fix a flat tire, whereas most of them spent too much time noticing her cleavage.

There was only a pack of two cherry Pop-Tarts left; she checked the time to see when last Jane had last eaten and figured she needed a recharge. Apparently her boss was a little more aware than usual, because she wandered into the kitchen while the tarts were in the toaster.

"Coffee," Jane grunted, scowling.

Darcy held her hands up as a white flag; she so _didn't _want to get into it with Jane again. If she could, she'd convince her to ease up on the joe and get some zee's, but she knew that the only way that was going to happen would be when Jane fell asleep mid-work and Darcy would find her drooling on her papers, bits of Pop-Tarts stuck to her face.

Taking pictures of that and reminding herself that eventually Thor would come back, and Jane would be relatively sane, and they would laugh over those picture was another of the few things keeping her sane.

The Pop-Tarts finished just as Jane was shuffling back to the lab; Darcy handed them over, without a plate, but Jane hardly noticed how hot they were, simply sticking one in her mouth and the other in her hoodie pocket before she wandered back to work, muttering under her breath and sending crumbs all over.

Darcy leaned back against the counter and sighed. Since Randy was currently sleeping on her desk, she was running out of options for what to do with her time. Before she'd heard the rain and thought to get something for Jane to eat, she'd been playing a not-so-rousing game of Solitaire. She'd already gotten fed up with Minesweeper and Mahjong and Solitaire wasn't far behind. But her relic of a computer was blocked by a probably snoring Randy, so she was running out of things to keep her occupied.

It was late and she'd much rather curl up in her bed and sleep for a couple days. But when Jane was on one of her three day stretches, it was smart to keep an eye on her. Contrary to popular belief, she didn't _only _care about her iPod and tazer; she actually had a soft spot for quirky scientists and even considered Jane sort of like her friend. More so when she wasn't work crazy and had shown a deeper side of herself when Thor had shown up on the scene and turned Jane's head.

Frowning at the Pop-Tart supply, her stomach twisting in a sign that she wasn't interested, she walked toward the window, hugging her long, cable-knit sweater around herself tighter. It got cold in the desert at night; people always associated deserts with dry, unending heat. She pressed her forehead against the glass and watched as the rain poured down and drenched everything; where once was dirt was now mud.

Her lips quirked and before she knew it, she'd pulled the door open and walked right out into the downpour. If Randy were awake, he would be complaining and trying to convince her back inside, all the while sighing and regretting that he was put on her detail. Well, screw him. He was missing out on all the fun.

The rain was cold; it dripped down her skin and dotted her glasses until she pulled them off and tucked them into her jeans pocket. Rain pooled in the hollows of her eyes and steadily drowned her hair until it felt heavy. It seeped through her sweater to her skin, but that didn't stop her from holding her arms out and twirling, dancing, boots landing in puddles and sending muddy water up in a splash. She grinned, feeling oddly refreshed as cold water collected on her skin, making her teeth chatter and marking her skin with goosebumps.

She turned her palms up and felt raindrops fill in all the lines and the cracks of her fingers. If Jane were paying attention, she'd be shouting about hypothermia from the doorway and complaining about what use Darcy would be if she was holed up in bed with a bottle of cough syrup and a pot of chicken soup.

Darcy pushed all of that out of her mind though and just focused on how it felt in the moment, which was probably how she got into trouble most of the time. She was a creature of habit; if it felt good, do it. If it blew up in her face later, she dealt with it when the time came. Or ran away from it, it depended on the issue.

Now, standing in the middle of a summer storm in Puente Antiguo, cut off from normal life and being threatened to stick around until they found somewhere she could be of use, besides handing Pop-Tarts to starving scientists, Darcy knew she had a problem she needed to deal with. The thing was, it wasn't always the worst thing that happened to her. Every once in a while, the rotation would change, and Randy would be replaced by some other agent, who started out stiff and professional, before eventually getting tired of the detail and of her and slowly loosening up. Not enough that she convinced them that a night out at the one local bar was a good idea, but enough that they let her walk across the street to the 7-Eleven for a slurpee and only watched her from the window rather than tailing her and scaring off the locals.

It was the in-between she liked, when a certain stern-faced agent would show up and listen to her rant and rave and beg to be returned to normal society, all the while promising that _next _time he would bring her the iPod she'd been waiting on for all of _ever_. Or, well, since they stole it, which _seemed _like forever ago. Assholes.

As if thinking of him made him appear, she heard a throat clear.

Darcy stopped so suddenly that her hair whipped around and slapped her in the face. Um, _ow much?_

Reaching up, she dragged the wet, sticky chunks of hair from her face and tucked them behind her ear.

Coulson was staring at her, his head cocked as if her mere existence baffled him. "It's nearly four in the morning," he informed her.

"Good for you on telling time, Agent C. _Obviously_ all your hard work pays off; I bet this gets you a raise!" She shot a finger-gun at him and winked.

His lips twitched. "I'll take it up with Director Fury when I return. As of right now, I'm a little more concerned with your apparent death wish."

"Oh that?" She waved a dismissive hand. "No worries. My mom had me checked out by a doctor. It comes and goes, but alls good on this front."

He blinked at her. "Miss. Lewis, you realize that exposing yourself to these temperatures could be hazardous to your health, don't you?"

She shrugged. "Sure." She tipped her head back and squeezed her eyes closed as she felt rain drip down into her eyes again and spill over, like cold tears. "It's a nice wake-up."

"When did you last sleep?" he wondered, sounding irritated, like he knew _exactly _when she last slept and it wasn't recently.

"What are you even _doing _here?" she wondered on a sigh, raising her head to look at him, eyebrow cocked. "Last I checked, we had Randy to play guard dog…"

"And where _is_ Agent Matthews?"

"He's keeping an eye on Dr. Foster, using his vast mental abilities to keep a constant scan of the area."

He blinked at her. "Is Agent Matthews sleeping?"

"Well… In his defense, it's like, _four in the morning!_" she reminded, her eyes wide for emphasis.

Coulson sighed, closing his eyes for a minute as he seemed to try and find his calm and balance again. He did that around her a lot. She took it as a sign that she was awesome and he just didn't know what to do with all the flawlessness she exuded. Hands on her hips, her sweater squishy under her fingers, she watched him. Not for the first time, she recognized that he was pretty hot, especially when he dropped the emotionless mask. Sure, it was usually replaced with exasperation, but it was _something!_

He was wearing a suit; she wondered if he ever wore anything else. But it was tailored to fit, showing he cared what he wore. And it did do him justice, in a dark grey that set off the pale blue of his pressed shirt. She happened to know that his eyes were a darker blue with flecks of grey. Not that she was staring or anything…

"So?" She walked toward him, exaggerating her steps, making sure to hop and land in puddles, sending muddy water up, until finally she was just a few feet from him. "You come in for the awesomely greasy diner food? 'Cause not even Tess opens up shop 'til six." Her eyes roamed down the dark road to the frequented diner; the front window boasted the best eggs and bacon in America, but Darcy was rightfully skeptical.

"Things quieted down elsewhere, I thought it was a good time to see how everything was progressing here," he answered, turning to look at her, an eyebrow raised.

"Quieted down?" She snorted. "So what? We're on the bottom of the list and when everything else stops being interesting, you just take a jet out to the middle of nowhere and check on your pet project?" She raised a finger pointedly. "Half of which, I might add, would like to retire from astrophysics and all internships…" She frowned, crossing her arms under chest.

Now that she wasn't dancing, she could feel the rain beginning to soak in, and it was friggin' _cold!_

He eyed her, lips pressed in a line, before finally he held a hand out. She stared at it, not sure what he was doing. He sighed, pressed his hand to her shoulder, and turned her. "I'm taking you back to your trailer," he told her.

"Wow, buy a girl food first, G-Man," she said, though honestly, protesting wasn't really on her mind. What he looked like under those clothes and just how much she could break his agent mask while riding him in her bed was more or less taking over her thoughts.

He simply looked at her, neither put off by her joke or appearing amused by it. One of these days, she was going to crack open his sense of humor. Dark, dry, corny? She would find out.

"What about Randy?" she wondered, looking back at the building. "And Jane?"

"You recently fed Dr. Foster, didn't you?" He kept walking. "She'll probably pass out soon anyway… And as for Randy, if he wakes up and can't find you, he deserves the panic that follows."

She eyed him sideways, her lips twitching. "Little cruel, dude. He's gonna think I was either taken or he wasn't doing his job right; either way he's gotta worry about getting his ass handed to him."

"He should," he told her firmly.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "A four am snatch and grab would be super lame. I hardly think anybody's coming out here to pick off the Pop-Tart assistant anyway."

Coulson turned to look at her, his brows furrowed. "You underestimate your worth, Darcy."

She laughed under her breath, ducking her head. "I've been working for Jane like, what, nearly a year? I'm a glorified babysitter." She rolled her eyes. "Half the time, Jane complains because I don't follow the scientist handbook of what qualifies for smart." She shrugged. "And whatever, I'm cool with that. I knew I wasn't going to fit in when I signed up, but I needed the credits… Didn't know it was gonna turn into Guantanamo Light."

He raised an eyebrow. "You think we're holding you prisoner?"

"I think I'm not allowed to interact with civilization… I mean, _obviously_, the guys in Gitmo have it way worse. But it still sucks over here… At best, I get to walk across the street and get a slurpee without somebody making sure I'm not spilling state secrets to the dude who runs the joint." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not exactly allowed to go home for the holidays or return to school or even check my _Facebook!_"

She could see the trailers in the distance and clenched her jaw. It was stupid, but she was tired and getting emotional and now she really just wanted to curl up in her bed and forget all of this. She wanted to wake up back home, to her mom's burnt breakfast, and roll her eyes while her mother got felt up by whoever her latest boyfriend was, all the while laughing that loud, grating laugh of hers. She wanted to zone out with her earbuds in and her music cranked on high. She wanted to forget about Puente Antiguo, Jane Foster, Thor, and the whole shebang. She just wanted to not be a prisoner of SHIELD. Was that really too much to ask for?

She climbed up the stairs to her trailer and pulled the screen door open, cringing at the protesting creak it gave.

She wasn't sure why she was surprised when Coulson followed her in. She had to have a shadow and Randy was out, so obviously he was stepping in. She wiped at her face, hoping he took it for rainwater and not the few tears that slipped out. She pulled open the tiny linen closet door and dug out a few towels, tossing most of them onto the couch set up in the tiny living room/dining room space. "Jane'll pitch a fit if you get the furniture wet."

She walked off to her bedroom to change, not looking back.

Pulling off wet clothes always sucked; it reminded her just how chilled her skin was, making her fingers work slower, and it was only made worse when the stagnant air finally touched freshly naked skin. She dropped her sopping clothes in the basket and dried herself down with a towel, squeezing out her hair as best she could. Finally, she found a pair of fuzzy pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt to pull on. Rubbing her hands together, she cupped them and blew into the palms, before making her way back to the kitchen.

Coulson had shed his jacket, hanging it on a hook by the door. His shoes were there too, socks rolled up and placed in the opening. He sat on a towel, his hands on his knees, looking stiff and unemotional. Darcy started looking through the cupboards for something to eat.

"You should sleep," he told her.

She hummed. "Probably."

He sighed.

"If I had a dad, you would remind me of him," she snarked.

He didn't say anything and she finally looked over at him. His brows were furrowed, eyes on the floor.

"I just meant because you do that judgmental sighing thing…" she explained.

"It's a last ditch effort to shame you into doing what I want you to," he admitted freely, meeting her gaze again.

She snorted. "How's that working for you?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You're one of a select few it doesn't work on."

She rubbed her nails on her shirt. "Check that out, I just impressed myself," she crowed.

He looked away, but there was something about the tilt of his lips that told her he was amused.

"You hungry, Son of Coul?" she wondered, digging out a box of Lucky Charms. She waved it at him, but he shook his head. Shrugging, she poured herself a bowl before joining him on the couch, leaving a cushion between them and folding her legs under her.

He watched her from the corner of his eyes for a moment before slowly beginning to lean back, relaxing into the couch.

It was a beat-up, threadbare, piece of crap they'd picked up for cheap at a second hand store. She called it Bertha. Because for all that it had some years on it, it was sturdy and loyal. Jane argued that technically, a piece of furniture couldn't _be _loyal, but Darcy wasn't going for it. Bertha only seemed to creak and groan when somebody of the sucky variety sat on her. Like most of the agents sent to keep an eye on her and Jane; Bertha almost always complained. A select few— Barton, Hill, and apparently Coulson— it seemed to accept and approve of.

Mouth full of milk and cereal, Darcy patted the cushion and told him, "She likes you."

"I'm honored," he said.

Her head tipped. "Sarcasm. You're a man of many virtues."

His eyes dropped as he seemed to try to staunch any facial reply to that.

"Was there a special school you had to go to?" she wondered. "To break you of all your normal human behavior, I mean." She dug another bite out and swung it into mouth, licking her lip and rubbing a hand up her chin as milk dribbled down.

He blinked at her. "It was an online course. AI teacher. I aced everything but the combat portion; apparently they frown on using the computer as a target."

She grinned. "And he goes for Silver with two, ladies and gentleman. It's a miracle!" She threw her head back and cried, "Hallelujah!"

He raised an eyebrow. "We're not all drones, Miss. Lewis. We just take our jobs very seriously."

Darcy rolled her eyes and used her spoon to separate the marshmallows from the rest of her cereal. "Whatever," she dismissed. "So far, all you guys do is take perfectly good things and make them suck… And also shoot at stuff."

"Is this about your iPod?" he wondered, brows furrowed.

She pursed her lips. "You mean the one you promised to bring me… _next time_…" She waved her spoon at him, a drop of milk landing on his leg. "I'm on to you, buddy."

Coulson's eyes dropped and he wiped at the milk, despite the fact that he was soaking wet, so she hardly imagined a little milk was going to do much to damage his pants. "I know where your iPod is, if it's any consolation."

She frowned. "Since I assumed you guys wouldn't lose it, no, not really. I mean, I figured it was in some box labeled, 'Shit I should really give back, but it's much more fun _not _to…'"

"I'm afraid that's not how our filing system works," he replied dryly.

"Then you guys must've had a crap time trying to figure out my labeling system on all of Jane's work…" she mused, eyebrows hiked.

"It was… difficult," he admitted.

She grinned, rather enjoying that she put them out even a little bit. Finishing off the cereal portion, Darcy looked at him again. "So? Where's my iPod at, anyway? Collecting dust in some room filled with confiscated crap? Did you sell it at an auction, make a few bucks? Now some poor kid who couldn't pay for his own iPod is using mine, even though it had a good home and a mother who loved it!" She glared at him, before digging up a spoonful of milky marshmallows.

"Currently it's in my office," he told her. "It's been in my possession for the last few months… I was using it for long flights in between sites…" He looked away. "Your playlists are put together nicely. They provide a good distraction." His mouth curved at the corners. "I especially liked your Badass Music collection; it helps to motivate before a particularly difficult mission."

She blinked at him. "So… You've been keeping my iPod hostage because you like my taste in music…?"

He cleared his throat, looking almost embarrassed. "I considered buying a new one and copying the files, but personal time can be hard to find," he admitted.

"And yet you're here at four in the morning to stop me from dancing in the rain and getting pneumonia…" she mused, eyebrow cocked.

"That was… good timing." He shook his head. "I'd already flown in a couple hours ago. I was surveying the area, making sure it hadn't been compromised in any way."

"And?"

He frowned, shrugging. "As far as I can tell, we haven't been detected by any outside enemies as of yet."

"So we're cool?" She nodded. "Yeah, small town, I think somebody would notice if we had some bad guys hanging around, scoping out the only two chicks with a bodyguard detail."

"Still. It's important to make sure that everybody involved with this project is safe; I wouldn't want you to come to any harm because my team or I wasn't doing our job properly."

"Personally, I'd be good with you guys not doing it so well… Then maybe I could at least sneak out to the bar once in awhile, get my drink on and forget all about rainbow bridges and grumpy scientists for awhile."

"One of the reasons you haven't been cleared to be on your own is because we question your ability to keep secrets, Miss. Lewis…" He raised an eyebrow at her knowingly. "Somehow I don't think being inebriated is going to help that."

"Oh my god, it's not like I'm going to do shots until I black out and tell everybody about Thor!" she complained. "You guys seriously underestimate both my ability to shut up _and _to hold my liquor!"

"Well, you haven't given us any proof that you _can_," he returned.

She glared at him. "If I'm talking a lot, it's to make up for the awkward silences you and your crew leave!"

"Then you're doing a magnificent job; I've never been more impressed with the lack of quiet."

Pursing her lips, she turned away from him. "I take it back. I liked you better when you were just the strong, silent type." She filled her mouth with marshmallows. "You and your whole team can suck the big one." Drinking the leftover milk, she dropped the empty bowl to the table and then wiped her mouth with the back of her arm, kicking her feet up and leaning back, arms crossed under her chest.

Silence lasted all of three minutes before she cracked.

"Y'know, Randy usually camps outside the trailer. He's got a chair out there and everything." She motioned to the door. "There's a canopy, so you don't have to worry about the rain."

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Miss. Lewis?"

She really hated that he called her that, but she ignored the question and instead grabbed up the remote from the table, turning on the fossil of a TV and flipping through the channels. "You do what you wanna do, G-Man…" she muttered. "Nobody's controlling _your_ freedom."

He didn't say anything right away, but then finally he took the remote from her and shut off the TV, citing, "You haven't slept in nearly thirty-six hours."

She frowned. "I thought you only rolled into town a few hours ago, how do you even _know _that?"

"I keep informed."

She turned to look at him. "So what? You call it into Randy? Check to see if Jane's getting fed and made any progress on getting a certain alien God back here for you to debrief?" She rolled her eyes. "Make sure I'm not holding a press conference and telling the world everything I know?"

"I keep updated on Dr. Foster's progress, yes," he admitted, nodding. "When I ask about you, it has little to do with whether or not you're sharing classified information." He sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat. "I know it's been difficult for you… I didn't agree with keeping you here, especially after you finished out your internship and wanted to return home."

"Yeah, well, you don't think you're going to miss Oregon until you've spent way too much time in the desert." She shrugged. "Mom pitched a fit when I wanted to move all the way to Virginia to go to Culver… New Mexico's a little closer, but I'm pretty sure she's only going to be happy when I'm back in Portland."

"You had a music scholarship, didn't you?" he asked, brow furrowed. "But you passed it up?"

Darcy shrugged. "State U, School of Performing Arts," she said, sounding both grandiose and somehow dismissive. "I don't know… I had mad skills with the cello, y'know, but…" She shook her head. "I wanted out."

"Of Portland?"

She nodded. "And home… I just…" She sighed. "I love my mom. She gave birth to me; it's pretty much a requirement. But…" Her eyes dropped. "She's not exactly a role model and I guess, sometimes, I felt like she was pissed at me for being good at something…" She pulled her legs up and hugged her arms around her knees. "When I started playing the cello, it was like… _magic_." She looked at him, her eyes wide, brows hiked. "Seriously, like Harry Potter and his wand had _nothing _on me…" she boasted. "I was just—It was _amazing_ the sounds I made and the music and just…" She breathed in deep, lighting up with the memory. "I—I felt like I finally had something of my own. Something I was _really _good at…" She looked away. "But then I'd play at home and mom would get this look on her face and she always came up with some excuse not to come to my concerts and… When I got the scholarship, she just… She looked…" Her brow furrowed. "I dunno, but it wasn't _proud_…"

"So you scrapped it and instead went to Culver University to study sciences?" He frowned. "I'm not sure I understand where your logic comes from."

She shook her head. "Book smart, that's one thing. Creativity's another." She rested her chin on her knees. "I think when mom saw me with my cello, saw the passion and freedom there, she got jealous… And I didn't like it. I didn't like that I put that there or I—I made her feel inferior or something. So I applied to a few different places and Culver was the first school that sent me an acceptance letter. I got away from mom, but I also didn't break her."

He watched her a long moment. "Did it work?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Are you and your mother on the same level yet? Did distance help anything?"

She laughed bitterly. "She's got another boyfriend and every time I pick up the phone, she wants to talk about how much work sucks and I should enjoy school as long as I can 'cause life is just downhill after that…" She frowned. "She never asks what I'm doing though… And back home, my cello collects dust in a closet…" She rolled her eyes. "Unless she pawned it… Or some douche boyfriend sold it, I dunno."

"Hmm…" He sat back thoughtfully. "That explains those three instrumental playlists you have."

Darcy grinned. "I had to do a lot of searching to find some of those," she told him.

"And illegal downloading."

She laughed. "Yeah, that too." She wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Promise you won't snitch on me?"

"I'm not sure. Seeing you in handcuffs could be a highlight," he mused.

Darcy's mouth fell open, a choked laugh escaping her. "Careful, Coulson, you're treading pretty close to crossing that professional line…" she teased, even as her heart thumped in her chest and her palms turned sweaty.

Handcuffs had never really been her thing, but somehow, she didn't think being cuffed to a headboard while the stone-faced Agent did wild things to her pliant, willing body would be a bad thing. In fact… She smirked to herself. She thought it could get real interesting, real fast.

"Would that be a bad thing?" he wondered.

She paused, her eyes slowly meeting his. "Are— Are you saying you have some cuffs on you and you want to play bad cop?" she asked.

His cheek jumped and for just a moment, she thought his eyes might have darkened. "I meant more along the lines of crossing the professional boundary… I'm not sure handcuffs would be in our _immediate _future…" His lips twitched. "Although I wouldn't rule it out."

She chuckled. "I would hope not; I'm already getting ideas."

His lips curled at the corners. "I'm going to be in town for the week…" He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I could… accompany you to the local bar…"

Darcy turned, dropping her legs down and facing him properly. "Speak normal for me, Agent man, so we don't get our lines crossed here." She shrugged. "I need to know exactly what I'm going to be dressing for; business or pleasure."

He stared at her, searching her eyes a moment, before nodding, like he was taking the offered challenge.

"Miss. Lewis…" He paused. "_Darcy_… I'd like to take you out for a drink, maybe compare notes on our musical tastes…"

She grinned at him. "_Put another dime in the jukebox, baby_."

His eyebrow raised, head cocked slightly. "_I love rock n' roll_."

She nodded. "_So come and take your time and dance with me_."

He licked his lips slowly. "I'm not much of a dancer," he warned.

"I'll be the judge of that…" she decided, leaning against the back of the couch, eyeing him. "Didn't think you had it in you to ask me out…" Her brow furrowed. "It's not against policy or something?"

"To date a prisoner of New Mexico's revised Gitmo?" He shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of."

She snorted. "Good to know. You should probably put it in the leaflet; let all the other POW's know they can knock boots with their very own Secret AgentMan."

He hummed disagreeably. "I monitor most of them… And considering I'm only interested in a snarky former-cellist, I think I'll keep the information to myself."

She smiled, nodding. "I can see the appeal there."

He laughed under his breath. "I'm glad."

Darcy reached over, gripping his silk tie in her hand, still wet, and gave it a tug. "You know eventually, Thor will come back and you guys will figure out that I'm not a threat to security… I'll head back to school or home to Portland and all of this…" She shook her head. "Just a bad, distant memory that tastes like stale Pop-Tarts and smells like stagnant air."

He nodded, eyes wandering over her face, like he was memorizing curves and slopes and the fan of her eyelashes. "Or we could leave you with some better memories… Decidedly not stale or stagnant."

Humming, she leaned toward him, gaze moving from his mouth to his eyes. "You smell like fresh rain."

His hand cupped her face, large and calloused, his long fingers threaded in her hair. "What do I taste like?" he asked, right before his lips slanted across hers.

Darcy's eyes squeezed closed as she sighed into his mouth. She used her knees to move closer, not really caring that he was still soaked through with water. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders, fingers flicking to graze his neck. She slid them up, curling around his hair. He was warm and hard, his chest firm where her breasts flattened, water seeping through her shirt. His lips were soft, his tongue hot; he kissed with precision, as if every movement he made was a test, searching for what she liked and improving on it with each swipe of his tongue and graze of his teeth.

Hands swept down her back, fingers flaring out over her ribs, pausing when she squeaked, ticklish there. And then they resumed their search, looking for those same spots all over her, roving across her shoulders and into the dips of her waist, the small of her back and lower to the top of her ass. She arched up until his hands settled firmly, cupping her butt and swinging her over until she was straddling his lap, leaned flat against him. His hands kneaded and she groaned appreciatively, nipping his lower lip.

When she opened her eyes, it was to see that the furrow at his brows had smoothed out. That his whole face had relaxed except for wrinkles that fanned out form the corners of his eyes, like he was smiling into each kiss.

She cupped his face and pulled back, staring at his mouth, swollen and red, and parted as he panted. His skin was flushed and he was staring at her lips as he licked his own. Before the agent mask could fall back into place, she shook her head and leaned in for another kiss, a little harder now, enjoying the way he answered her passion with his own. That he _had _passion in him, even if it was always hidden away from sight.

He hummed, his fingers releasing to slide up and under the bottom of her shirt, curling and scratching lightly at her bare skin. She wanted more; she wanted his hands everywhere, shucking off clothes and touching her all over. She wanted his fingers between her thighs and his mouth on her breasts. She wanted to see him fall apart while he was inside her.

He broke away from her lips, but she just kissed down his chin and buried her mouth at his neck, biting and sucking as she went, smelling the faint touch of his cologne.

"I'm getting you wet," he said, his voice hoarse.

"And Coulson wins the award for stating the obvious," she muttered, licking the curve of his Adam's apple.

He laughed under his breath. "I meant that my clothes are wet and now so are yours."

She leaned back, sitting on his knees, and looked down at herself, the front of her shirt soaked through and molded to her body. "Huh, so they are." She wiggled her eyebrows. "I know a really good solution for that," she told him, reaching for the end of her shirt.

That dark flash filled his eyes against as he stared at where her fingers were gripping.

But then she broke the spell. By yawning.

And suddenly his eyes were on her face and sexy times were so _totally _off the table. "You're tired," he said, this time avoiding the shaming sigh and instead looking at her with genuine concern. "_Darcy_…"

She let her head fall back on a sigh, which turned into another, longer yawn. "Okay, so I'm exhausted." She rolled her eyes. "Not the first time."

"No, but this time it's avoidable."

Before she could protest, he stood up, lifting her with him, hands cupped at the crease of her thighs meeting her ass.

"Whoa!" she cried, arms looping around his neck. "A little warning!" she complained, her eyes wide.

He snorted and circled the coffee table, walking down the short hall toward her bedroom.

Darcy grinned, looking over her shoulder at her open door before wiggling her eyebrows back at him. "You wanna share? I promise not to hog the blanket."

Amused, he simply raised an eyebrow. He dropped her down on the left side of her bed and paused, as if he wasn't sure if he should stay or go.

Darcy took the initiative and pushed up onto her knees, bouncing a little on the mattress, and looking decidedly proud when his eyes fell to her impressive rack. She reached out and grabbed his tie again. "We've got a date tomorrow and until then I promise to behave." She used her finger to make a cross over her heart. "As much as I can…" she amended.

Undoing his tie, she tugged it free and tossed it toward her laundry basket. "Look, you're stuck with me until Jane finds her way home, which I would put money on isn't for awhile." She shrugged. "Even if Randy wakes up, he can't leave alone. So…" She started untucking his shirt. "You can strip down to your underwear and we can get our cuddle on. Wherein I promise to get some sleep!" She stared up at him, pouting her lips. "Are you really going to say no to this face?"

"I'm extremely resilient to puppy-dog eyes," he told her.

"Was that in your online course training?"

His lips twitched. "One of the more difficult parts."

Darcy unbuttoned his shirt slowly. "I'll keep my hands to myself… At least until after our first date and I've convinced you to dance with me…"

Despite his apparent immunity to puppy-dog eyes, Coulson sighed before finally starting to unbutton the top of his shirt. Their fingers met in the middle and he shrugged the fabric the rest of the way off; her eyes widened with pleasure at the firm body underneath, showing off surprisingly cut arms and a broad chest. She bit her lip as her hands fell to the buckle of his belt. When he was left standing in just his black boxer briefs, he gave her a nudge back.

Darcy felt sticky in her pajamas though, since they were wet from leaning on him. She stood from the bed as he circled to climb in and stripped off her pants and shirt, trading it in for another, longer t-shirt. She imagined his body heat would help with any chill and flipped up her blanket to climb underneath. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her in close, her back to his front, spoon-style.

She smiled as his face tucked in at her neck.

"Good?"

"Awesome," she told him, covering his arm with hers, fingers tracing the top of his hand. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, and felt him do the same, his chest expanding at her back. "I love summer storms," she murmured.

He kissed her shoulder. "I'm learning to appreciate them more."

She grinned. "They grow on you."

"I've noticed."

Darcy dragged her fingers up and scrubbed them through the hair on his arm as she snuggled deeper into her pillow. "Don't disappear on me before I wake up," she told him, nearly slurring with how tired she was.

"I'll be here when you wake up," he assured.

"Good. We'll get breakfast."

He squeezed her lightly. "By the time you wake up, it'll probably be afternoon."

"Breakfast doesn't follow your strict schedule of time, Son of Coul," she argued. "If I want pancakes and bacon at three in the afternoon, I'll have it. Extra crispy and with whipped cream."

"Duly noted."

She smiled at the note of amusement there, but had to ask, "You _sure_ you're prepared to date me?"

His face pressed into her neck and his leg slid in between hers. "I'm fully prepared for this mission, Miss. Lewis… and I plan to make the best of it."

Darcy bit her lip to keep her grin from showing. "Looking forward to it, Agent."

He chuckled lowly.

She fell asleep to his even breath against her ear.

When she woke up, he was ironing his suit.

Where the eff he even found an ironing board, she didn't know. What really mattered was her favorite secret agent was still there, as promised.

"Breakfast?" he asked her, mouth quirked up on one side.

Darcy nodded, smiling in return.

Eventually, she knew, she would return to Portland and the cello hidden in her closet, and Coulson would go back to being a stone-faced secret agent that she wasn't even supposed to know about. But for now, she could enjoy it and explore it and collect better memories as she went.

Raising her hands, she mimicked a camera, and flicked her finger as she made a clicking noise with her tongue, mentally capturing every detail of a half-dressed Phil Coulson in her bedroom, looking on at her with amusement, waiting to start their day with an early afternoon breakfast.

Life looked like it just took a turn for the better and Darcy was all for it.

[**End.**]


End file.
